Oneshot: Sensory Devastation
by megmeg999
Summary: It's been a strange, confusing time since the Rowdyruff Boys signed a treaty with Townsville to no longer work for evil. Now a year later, Brick is not the only one struggling with their transition.


Oneshot: Sensory Devastation

Rating: K

Pairing: Brick x Blossom

Summary: It's been a strange, confusing time since the Rowdyruff Boys signed a treaty with Townsville to no longer work for evil. Now a year later, Brick is not the only one struggling with their transition.

**Note: As tribute to my one year anniversary with my boyfriend, I thought it was a nice idea to write a few One Year Anniversary oneshots for PPG. This is one of them.**

* * *

Blossom found herself smiling, brilliant white teeth gleaming in the unflattering school light of the cafeteria. With her sisters and best friend, Robin, they delved deeper into the conversation of Prom just days before and boys galore. Until suddenly, something flickered in her sharp peripherals. A concentrated, imposing flash of red crossed her line of sight, and it brought the curious gaze in its direction.

Her estranged counterpart, Brick, strode passed the table of giggling girls without so much of a glance their way. Nestling himself in the empty chair across his brothers, taking refuge at a lunch table not far off, a rare and distinct smile took form.

The hollow magma eyes remained as such, lifeless and unwelcoming. No glimmer of hope, no sign of passion or desire, no purpose . . . it was disheartening.

"It's been about a year since they made the choice to be good, hasn't it?" Buttercup's voice broke through the silence, bringing her contemplative gaze forward once again.

Bubbles gasped in harmony with Robin, leaning forward the slightest bit. "It is! I honestly never thought they'd be brave enough to sign a treaty with Townsville." Her head shook back and forth excitedly. "Nope, never saw it coming. I mean, to promise never to fight or cause crime again? I'm shocked they made it a week, let alone a year."

"Brick especially." Robin's words hurt, an aching reality of truth behind them. "Have you talked to him about it yet? See how he's holding up?"

Thinking about it, it was hard to recall the last time they had spoken period, let alone of his true feelings. Aside from the occasional group assignment, or brief pleasantries, contact had been all of nonexistent.

"Not exactly . . ." It pained the redhead to confess that. "He doesn't exactly give me a prime opportunity."

Not that she had been making a hell of an effort to reach out either. The conversation died out, replaced by plans of their weekend endeavors. Blossom, however, found herself glancing back in his icy direction. What was it about Brick that called to her? The counterpart connection, no doubt was a start.

There was more to it though, even her innocent mind could see that. Perhaps a bit of sympathy, knowing full well the pressures of being a super-powered being of Good could bear. Their whole lives, she and her sisters had endured the fact. The Ruffs, however, were still in the transition stage. Who could say how long they would suffer the imposing stereotype and expectations. Sometimes, even Blossom had to escape, for fear of crumbling under the pressures.

Occasionally with her impromptu glances in class or around town, Brick's suspense would show. A flustered fidget, bitter attitude, or even just a good kickboxing match at the local gym – they all illustrated his very real battle with the transformation. Who was to blame the boy really, giving up the lifestyle he had grown up with for a change he never expected, and having to create alliances with people he had undoubtedly hates (and tried to kill) for years prior. She couldn't think of having to drop everything that she had been raised on to suddenly convert to Evil, and adopt ways that never she believed in. Morally different views of course, but the gist of the idea roughly translated to the same overall feeling.

His eyes, dark and threatening, were once a symbol of pain and suffering. Now, they screamed sacrifice and hope, a hope that maybe not everything once thought to never change could grow into something beautiful. Though they lingered in the plane of distant distraction – clouded by confusion, anxiety, and quite possibly a need for help – below the surface a glimmer of light sparkled. Behind his cold, aloof façade of indifference, Brick wasn't necessarily as disturbed by the idea of Good as she initially had thought. At least, so Blossom could surmise. He had always had such readable eyes, if nothing else.

One thing above all else that she was certain about her counterpart . . . Brick was a sensual devastation, that would one day drive her to madness if not tamed. Every view, every touch (however infrequent) and every sound he made sent her senses into delirium. Yes, he was her own personal brand of heroin – as the saying puts it – and she was finding herself more addicted by the day.

Focus shifted, and the short tousled spikes of red hair danced with his turning head. They gazes met. Much to the surprise of the Powerpuff, an unforeseen and rare glint of life shone in his smoldering eyes.

Not for the first time since his conversion to good, Blossom's heart leapt at the sight of Brick Jojo.

* * *

The intense burn of a thousand gazes prickled on his neck, only adding to the pain of having to endure another day in high school. Barely a year passed, and already Brick was feeling the familiar flicker of destruction radiate within that nearly forced his fist into a dozen faces this morning alone. Yet, somehow, the day was hardly half over.

One tingle stuck out among the rest; softer, gentler than the others, not stinging of scrutiny and judgment. Though his brothers chatter away senselessly about the upcoming weekend, a brief moment of relief and escape for the former Ruff, he could feel that even from across the cheap slab of laminate wood it was not their eyes that offer the alleviating touch. No, it came from a table not their own, certainly not expected.

A few rows over, at one of the many perfectly round tables her focus lingered on him, tender and considering but not criticizing like predictable ones of others. There is the slightest undertone of appraisal, however it never instilled the feeling of worry within the boy. No, she was not like that, and Brick was – while not exactly "good" yet – smart enough to appreciate it.

Realization of his watching her back set in, and those pink eyes jolted back to her companions with the slightest hint of a blush to her ivory cheeks. Never did she look his way again, at least not when she thought he was looking. The cascading curls of auburn dance around her shoulders and its tips curve around her mid-waist. Half of it is tied back, dressed with a dainty and very feminine pink ribbon in the shape of her formerly signature bow.

Though they had all ditched the ridiculous getups, her clothes now fit snugly and sensually, clinging to every curve and inch of skin with the most appealing of respectable ways. In class, Brick had heard a great deal of gossip about the Powerpuff, her mannerism and attitude befitting a political genius, or ambassador for some refined foreign country. Rumors always failed to spread of "promiscuous endeavors", for everyone knew that was just not how Blossom was. Unlike Brick had been before his conversion.

No, she was everything he wasn't. Orderly, controlled, and good. He struggled daily to free himself of the bed, to force his feet to move, to even have a reason to breathe. Saying the transition had taken its toll on the boy would have been an understatement. Butch and Boomer, seemingly to flow from Evil to Good overnight with the smoothest of evolutionary changes, always failed to understand.

His life had not been exactly normal from the beginning – created in the smelly toilet of a jail cell – and told from the start of his creation he had the only purpose to kill his counterpart (or period). Childhood mischief had morphed into madness, and madness became murder. Year and years of murdering for the side that never once thanked him or explained its purpose. Yes, the lifestyle had become something of a job in the end, and he wasn't that upset to have quit.

Thinking about it though, there was nothing that the Rowdyruff missed in particular about being bad. Respect and fear, he had plenty of that which had a nice ring to it, but Brick had been content with only the respect of his brothers. Never did they fault on that with the change. Perhaps the freedom, yes, the freedom had been quite a nice perk. To be able to unleash any strain or anger on whatever was in his way, and not be restricted to sports and boxing bags for stress relief. To have had anything and anyone he wanted, by sheer means of taking it and never feeling remorse. Speaking truthfully, even in that old way of living, they was always a sickening whisper of guilt plaguing his matured mind. It ate away at the small thing of a conscious he had developed over a span of years. Other than those few and far between benefits, nothing felt different.

So then, why could Brick not grasp this way of existence? He had an inkling, of course, a handful thoughts on what could possibly be the problem. Nothing was a guarantee though. No doubt the easiest one to describe was the judgmental gazes of everyone that looked his way. What was the point of switching to good, if everyone would always just see him as evil? Criticizing and belittling with their pathetic attempts to get a reaction and force the treaty to be broken. On top of the ignorance, this standard of living was certainly different from one he was used to. Traveling and seeing everything, to settling into a small suburban home with routines and expectations. Brick did not handle expectations well, feeling obligated to not only complete but exceed them. It was a pride thing.

Apart from that, there were distinct benefits to being good, pleasing ones at that. The idea had intrigued him for years, but when the opportunity came, he found himself hesitating on how to reach for them. Routine was welcomed, knowing what to expect after a life of the unexpected. Having and going to parties, dances, dates, friends, even enemies (ones that wouldn't end with bloodshed) all very much appealed to Brick. Despite the obvious fear of some, fan letter came pouring in from lustful or idiotically smitten girls around school. Day after day, they piled higher in his locker, forever unread.

A love life attracted him most, the cliché and nauseatingly garish state of being so enamored with someone that the breath would leave his body at the sight of her. Thus far, he had yet to experience the feeling himself really. Wasn't it supposed to be simple, they meet, talk, and one day it's like an overwhelming feeling of being run over by a tank? To see her and feel his heart stop with every step she made, restart with every smile, and speed up with every word . . . So far, not even a flutter with the unappealing girls prancing around this school. Hey, just because he had the opportunity, didn't mean he wanted to take the first choice available. No, believable or not, Brick had standards.

"Brick," his boyish baby brother muttered with a grumble, slender white fingers snapped before his blank face. "Dude, wake your ass up. Wanna join the world again?"

Finally, his eyes were able to part from his counterpart, oblivious to the fact he had been staring at her still. "What the fuck do you want?"

Butch was the first to show his surprise, but the last to control it. "Man, you so need to get out. When was the last time you went to a party, or got laid?"

"Hell, went out with a living being period." Boomer silenced him before the excuses could pour out. "Taking the dog to the vet does not count as getting out. Unless you did the hot assistant in the back exam room, it doesn't count."

They had a point.

"Brick, you need a social life." His burly brother hid behind the oversized hands that had cinched his football spot when they transferred. "I'm going to die of humiliation for you."

Commentary faded into the background like an incessant hum that buzzed in his ear. Boomer and Butch most definitely didn't understand him. Picking absentmindedly at the poor excuse for spaghetti on his tray, he found himself sneaking more peeks at the redhead across the way.

So maybe he was wrong in the bold argument of all women in this school had turned his attention away. One in particular captured, and often held, his constantly fleeting responsiveness. Who could not be entranced by the way of her auburn tendrils, or the magnetic movement of her hips? With soft, receptive pink eyes that – in their far and few between interactions – would peer so deep into his soul, he wondered if she could see the dark and bloody past concealed within. Blossom knew exactly of his past, all things menacing and vicious, but it never deterred her passion or drive to coax him to good.

What was it about that woman, that no matter what strange or irritating things she said, it left him wanting to drown in the hypnotic sound? Much like her gaze, they shimmered with pink waters that gleamed no matter the situation before her. Every movement pulled him in, every sound took hold of his momentary thoughts, and every touch (friendly or otherwise) tingled with a burning longing for more. She was a sensory devastation, one that would one day certainly kill the last bits of sanity, but probably breathe new life into it just the same.

It all made for a manic heart, soul aching and yearning for more of her alluring personality and physical magnificence. Though it was far from what he had been brainwashed to thinking was love (or even remotely close), it felt strange, foreign. Nothing like it had ever been experience before, though the unfamiliar territory did leave him with the sense of blissful contentment. What did that equate to then, infatuation? Was this the early stages of love? Who could say, Brick had yet to investigate further, what with his supposed counterpart constantly whisked away by the demanding faces of life. It never seemed to discourage her though, the brilliant white smile never faltering or falsifying. So far from similar to Brick, it was almost otherworldly.

Blossom spared one quick glance his way, this time pleasuring him with a playful grin before turning away. So swift and effortless, the woman gave away not a drop of understandable emotion from the look, but making apparent a few of his own.

Not for the first time since his conversion to good, Brick's heart leapt at the sight of Blossom Utonium.

* * *

Spring sang around her like a siren's call, teasing and lingering just beyond the reality before her. It couldn't come fast enough. Trees struggled to break their budding leaves free, flowers nothing more than pleasant memories for a few more weeks to come. It didn't matter though, their memory was pleasure enough, and a satisfactory filler until the real thing would take its place.

Blossom burrowed further into her ivory trench coat, the soft suede caressing her skin like a lover's touch. It was a painful though, to think that with the valentine's holiday and season of love just beyond the corner, she would face it all alone one again. What was it about her that made finding even a high school romance such a picky, difficult task to endure? Was it the Puff, or the idea, that made her almost unwilling to try?

She knew exactly the cause of it all, in the days since his one year anniversary, thoughts of Brick clouded nearly every facet of her once thoughtful mind. School was easy to a point of monotonous, work was nonexistent in recent months, and there was nothing left to ponder but her counterpart. His image lingered in her retinas long into the darkness, replacing a dream form that was corporeal to a point of real. It was a strange notion, comical that the Leader of the Powerpuff Girls would find herself smitten with the melancholy Leader of the (reformed) Rowdyruff Boys. Nevertheless, it didn't substitute the fact she was.

What was there to be smitten about, that personality miserable to a point of depressing? The boy's participation in school and life was menial, satisfactory grades but enthusiasm next to imaginary. Anger always touched his features, a smile never reaching those intimidating magma eyes.

All the same, his drive pushed her fascination on. The drive that, despite all the dismal energy and unflattering attributes (for most) Blossom found herself engulfed in the intrigue of what brick would do next. How he would endure the next hurdle, or overcome the next predicament of life, his passion to find a place in this world was more than enough to encourage her enamored soul further down the path of love.

Perhaps it wasn't to that point, but with each increasing glance and passing smile, the idea of love was looking more attractive by the day. Who could say about the coming months, or the next years after, but for now it was suffice – though the feeling was far from reciprocated.

"Blossom?" Her name was whispered with a caress of the speaker's tongue, familiar and unexpected all at the same time. "What are you doing at the park so early?"

It hadn't been that early in truth, seven a.m. on a Saturday was far past her normal morning alarm. The boy didn't have to know about her stinginess for schedules, or the bitter personality that arose when they weren't kept.

"Brick." His name sounded so wonderful to murmur, watching the boy with an identical black trench coat come sit on the bench beside her. "I was just out for a stroll, sleep and I have not made good bedfellows in recent weeks. How about yourself?"

"Likewise." The dark demeanor shifted, something strange and unreadable but pleasurable just the same.

His eyes were so dull, life flickering across occasionally but never lingering long enough to enjoy the sight. It was a saddening sight. To think such a soul existed, one strained to a point of unresponsiveness, the words escaped without restraint.

"You're still struggling with the transformation, aren't you?" It pained the Puff to think about it. "Y-You wouldn't be thinking about giving up now, would you?"

Those were not the only words, a clear and concise statement drowning just below the surface of her comforting façade. No, what she wanted to shout, to confess with wholehearted passion was so much deeper. Blossom wanted him to stay good, stay good for her . . . to stay with her forever.

"I couldn't dream of going back now." The words didn't make sense, but there was an evident note to his dreary tone that made her realize something more waited deep in his throat just the same. "Can I speak candidly for a moment?"

The woman spared no objection, leaning closer to this fascinating creature struggling to get the words noticeably choking him. It was a charming sight, a flustered smile charming to an unprecedented degree. For a time, he made not a peep, nor dared glance her way in the slightest. Instead, those suddenly soft red eyes stared on to the horizon, past the rising sun and in a place far beyond this reality.

"I'm not the man you give me credit to be," he dared finally start. "I've hurt and killed, more times than I would like to admit. The past is unchangeable, I understand that and accept it, but it doesn't mean I have to let you live with the delusions that it's gentler then you acknowledge."

This was making no sense. With great reluctance, Blossom kept the questions in check until his eyes gave away it was all right to ask. A silent ear to confide in, she owed him at the very least that for his sacrifices.

"It's been a year since this supposed treaty was signed by my brothers and me. They have made their transitions seamlessly, but I think we can both confidently say it's been less than successful a transformation for myself, wouldn't you agree?" Her silence made for a suitable answer. "My point here is . . . I'm not good. No matter what treaties or useless documents I sign, it will never deter the fact I have done far more heinous things than you can even imagine. No matter the decades or centuries that pass, I may never be good. At least, not to your level; I may never reach even have your integrity and decency by any means."

The objection found its escape. "Brick, I–"

One hand quieted the thought. "I just don't want you to have any high expectations for me, Blossom. It's been a thing in my life that I promise to accomplish any and all expectations of me . . . but that is just one I can never guarantee. I owe you more than that. I owe you promises that I can only guarantee, and want to never burden you with the ones that can't be."

The noiselessness returned, something content and enjoyable about the atmosphere despite its dismal subject. Side by side, no awkward energy surfaced, but a newfound serenity that smell mildly of sexual tension. Ironic, but enjoyable.

"I do have one promise for you though, if the answer to my next question is one I've been hoping to receive." That once lifeless and threatening gaze softened to a point of tender when it met her own. A flustered blush began to heat her face to an embarrassing degree. "I'm not good, Blossom. Nevertheless, for you, I'd be willing to try to be. I want to be good, to have the qualities you radiate in life every day, so long as you're the one that brings it out in me."

Every breath in her throat vanished, in its stead a choking sensation only satiated by the enthralling look of his face. Time passed in a blur, until finally Blossom was satisfied this hadn't been a dream, but a beautiful reality. His name danced off her tongue, before the words were silenced by the unforeseen clamp of his lips to her own. It was nothing she had expected, but so very much more than hoped for. Hypnotic, extraordinary, every flick of his tongue and tender caress was a sensory devastation that nothing would be able to live up to the rest of her life.

"Teach me be good, Blossom; and I promise to always be there, protecting you. I'll strive to reach you one day, but will use everything I have to win you over until I'm good enough." He silenced the answer with one quick added kiss. "I just need you to accept me as I am until then, the struggling ex-villain who is falling in love with you more by the day."

Though no answer needed reason, she offered the acceptance anyway, and lost herself in the carnal delirium that was his kissing. Tender and full of potential, but a hungry and animalistic sensuality always right behind it to fuel the fire. Brick was a work in progress, as would be whatever relationship they bravely sought after. In the end, one thing was certain above all else; with Brick, anything was possible if he was with her. That was something she would strive for herself to always have, a positive and good-natured heart that gave him a reason to always stay with her.

Both knew at the very least, he always would . . .


End file.
